"Bob's Book": Chapter Two, Page Twenty-One

 

It was the Secretary of the Department, returned at last. I took him in in a flash. He was a mild, pleasant-looking man with dark eyes, hair-colored hair, dressed very well, with excellent upright posture and squared back shoulders. The only anomaly was that he was carrying a clear glass pitcher of water. He stopped as he stepped into the room, eyes widening slightly as he calmly assessed the situation. Then he walked over, opened the lid, and poured the water into the stove in a business-like manner. There was a loud hiss and I stopped panicking and gaped at him as the smoke began to clear.

The Secretary set the pitcher down on his desk next to a water glass there. He sat and coughed discreetly into the back of his left hand.

“Oh, dear,” he murmured. Otherwise, he ignored the clearing smoke. His movements were precise and unhurried as he drew a key out of his vest pocket, opened a desk drawer, took out a file filled with several papers, flipped it open, glanced over the papers, then straightened them up. Only then did he look up at us and seemed surprised at Rose and me standing there, looking like we’d been caught with our hand in the cookie jar. “Oh, please, be seated.” His voice was cordial.

We walked over timidly and took our seats. Rank smirked at us. When we were in our chairs the man put the file down and folded his hands.

“Good morning. I am Mr. Williams, Department Secretary.” He smiled. “Now, just to be sure we are the same page, each of you are here applying to become agents of the D.E.A., correct?” We all nodded, murmuring assent. “Excellent, excellent.” He shuffled the papers a bit, put them down, and looked at us seriously but almost apologetically.

“Now before we begin, I must tell you … the budget at this time only allows for one new agent. After a brief apprenticeship, that position will be offered to only one of you.”

We cut their eyes at each other; we had now become, as it were, rivals, and I know that I was suddenly assessing the others as such. The man went on.

“Until that time, you will be housed and fed by the Bureau, allowed a small stipend, and trained and evaluated by various teachers and agents.” His voice changed, as if declaiming company policy by rote. “While only one of you may become an agent at that time, there are lesser positions available if you have the skills and talent. And of course, when resources expand or vacancies open, you may always apply for agent again.”

He snapped back to present time.

“Now, let’s begin alphabetically,” he said briskly. “Bob Bellamy?”